


eulogy.

by mercuryhatter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 05:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10984107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuryhatter/pseuds/mercuryhatter





	eulogy.

                The impact of the sword is a familiar feeling, made all the more horrifying by the fact that it was never something a person should feel enough times to become familiar. A holy burn, a screaming of molecules, a divine annihilation. No person was meant to feel this more than once.

                But what about your existence makes you think that you have ever been a person?

                It is an old argument for you, a worn, tired track in your brain, and for the first time you choose not to follow it. So much of you is worn and tired. The holy shredding of your cells is as much a relief as it is a horror.

                You saw Dean’s face before it happened, and that too is a tired argument. You’ve existed for such a long time, long before he was more than a god’s idle dream, but an existence is different than a life, and you’ve spent your whole life vying for his love, his touch, things that it turns out he has no capacity to give you. Piece by piece you’ve taken yourself apart for him, and it was never enough. Not for what you wanted from him. It had seemed so important, before.

                You regret that now. That was no way to live. But it wasn’t your fault that you never could work that out when you had the chance, and your regret, though pervasive, is peaceful.

                You didn’t quite catch Sam’s face, before. He was there when the sword hit, you know that, but you were gone before your eyes had the chance to meet his. Still, you are glad that you were able to reach understanding with him, all those years ago. He is as good a man as a human could be, and a better friend, and you hope he knows that someday.

                There is a flash, somewhere within you, of a future you never could have had. In this little house by the lake, a baby sleeping in your arms as you watch the sun rise over the water. Inside, Kelly, alive and sleeping as well, safe and quiet. In another room, some other good and beautiful man, one who loves you the way you wanted a man to love you. The ghost of his kiss on your lips, the ghost of his hands on your body.

                A car rumbles in the driveway; Dean and Sam are here to visit. No crisis on their minds or enmity between them and you. Claire is in the backseat. Your peace with her is unsteady, but real. The best you could hope for. A few miles down the road, Mary and Jody headed this way in their truck.

                The vision spirals farther from reality, even this tenuous version of itself. Anna is humming in the kitchen, bright and human and whole. Samandriel helps her and she laughs as she tries to explain to him how taste works. Bobby is drinking coffee and poking fun from the kitchen table, and as you watch from afar Rufus sits down too. You can’t see Uriel or Hannah with human eyes, but you feel them close by, steadfast, never at peace but not at war, not now.

                The baby cries. You, the you on the porch who is safe and happy and loved, glances up at the sun, and the vision vanishes.

                The holy burn isn’t inside you anymore. There is no more you to be inside of.

                There is one more moment for you. Just enough time for all your regrets and all your questions, all your thrice-cursed hope and all your crushing fear, to scab over and fall away. Just enough time for you to wonder if Anna will be waiting for you, if, against all you know and have ever been taught, that there might still be a reward for you. Just enough time to be faintly surprised that you do not see your father this time, that this time, no one is coming to thrust you back into the struggle.

                Then, there is nothing at all.


End file.
